He hesitated. Licked his lips – which was distracting. “I don’t really know where to go. From here.”
“Good.” The sudden, painful tension in her chest loosened. “Neither do I.”
They traded glances, and it felt like progress.
“Wanna watch TV?” she asked.
He nodded, and so they did.
Thirty
Fox assumed that Tenny wouldn’t come, but he appeared halfway through cheese and cocktails, and set an expensive bottle of red down on the kitchen island as a hostess gift. He was an asshole, sure, but he was a good actor; he played it up to Emmie until she was smiling quietly, in that subtle way of hers. She’d always been easily impressed, Emmaline – though, secretly, Fox admired and liked her. She’d seen through all Walsh’s bland effrontery straight off; been drawn to him in a way no one ever had. She’d earned major points for that; Walsh deserved to be loved, unreservedly, even if he would have denied himself.
They ate. Eden tried – and occasionally failed – to keep work out of it. After dinner, all the girls wound up in the small, back living room, a cozy den with a stone fireplace and plenty of overstuffed couches. Fox knew Eden was pitching her crusade to Emmie and Becca. He went to have a smoke on the porch with his brothers, but wandered back in for another beer, eventually.
It was only then that he realized Tenny had stayed inside; that he was in the kitchen, now, squared off across the gleaming island from Emmie.
Fox tucked himself in a dark corner to watch and listen.
“…horses, sometime?” Emmie was saying.
Tenny nodded. “I have – equestrian experience.”
Fox was surprised. It made sense – he knew that Tenny had been trained in so many things, as part of his creation as a prime operative. Rich, influential types – the types manipulated and targeted by the government – had horses, especially in Europe. Of course Tenny could ride – but it felt different, hearing it here, hearing him tell Emmie so, haltingly, awkwardly.
Emmie, to her credit, didn’t acknowledge his stiff, inhuman response. Only nodded. “I’ve got some lesson horses – school masters. Older and dependable. One’s even a western pleasure mount,” she said, smiling. Tenny smiled back, faintly, helpless to do otherwise. His hands, Fox saw, where they were splayed against the lip of the counter, were open and relaxed. They twitched in response to her words. “But there’s my boy – he’s confirmed Prix St. George, and advancing. Finicky, though. He chooses who he likes and who he tosses. I’ve got a couple young ones, though. I1 and ready to advance. I could always use a learned hand schooling them,” she said, head tilting in obvious invitation.
Tenny hesitated – and Fox didn’t think it was for show. He glanced down at his own hands, shifted his weight, and wet his lips. He lookednervous. “I can. If you want.”
Emmie beamed at him – Fox had honestly never seen her smile that wide. “Awesome! Can you come by Tuesday? Some of the babies are due to be worked.”
Tenny nodded, and mumbled something in the affirmative, before he slipped out of the room, ducking into the dining room.
Emmie stared at the place he’d been, smiling faintly, and nodded to herself.
Fox slipped into the room, taking up Tenny’s spot at the island. “Interesting.”
She adjusted smoothly; no sign of a surprise, just an indulgent, amused lift of her brows as she poured herself a glass of wine. “Is it?”
One of the reasons he liked her so much was the effortless way she made him work for every conversation. She could take the sort of comment that would send one of his brothers off in a huff, spin it right back on him, just as vague and deceptive, and suddenly he was explaining himself, and she was grinning. “His whole bashful real-boy routine with you just now.” He gestured toward the door Tenny had gone through. “All I get is teeth.” He imitated one of Tenny’s nastier sneers for her, and she grinned.
A grin that faded quickly, though. Her voice lowered – and softened. It was sincere. “That is one very broken boy, Charlie.”
He bit back a sigh. “Yeah.” He tipped his head, and pretended to consider her – though there was a note of truth to his request when he said, “Want to help me with him?”
She breathed a laugh. “You just need more practice.”
“Handled many government assassins, have you?”
“Horses,” she countered. “So, so many horses. You learn how to handle aggression. And fear,” she said, seriously. “I don’t know what he’s scared of, but it’s something.” Her head tipped, not quite an accusing angle, but close.Are you addressing that fear?
He lifted his chin, hands braced on the edge of the counter. “Alright, horse trainer. What do you think he’s afraid of?”
She snorted. “Everything, probably.” When he frowned, she said, “His whole world got upended. Every aspect of his life was planned out for him. They told him when to sleep, and when to work; which persona to put on. He didn’t have a shred of autonomy. He also didn’t have anyone to care about – or to care about him, beyond his usefulness.”
“Do you think I haven’t thought of this?” he asked, and though his tone was mild, he knew Walsh would have decked him had he been in the room and heard him ask that.
The little sideways twitch of Emmie’s mouth told him she knew it, too. “I’m sure you have. I’m sure you all have. But have any of you tried being kind to him? Or have you just barked orders and told him it was time to act like a member of this club – which he doesn’t know, and to which he has no loyalty.”
